TW: Suicidal thoughts, idealization of suicide, violence, blood.
Alarm bells in his head. Not the kind that chimed and fluttered. These were the bells that blared like an explosion. Deafening, the ignition of adrenaline telling him to run. Get out now, leave, circumstances were already so suspicious and he wanted to get the hell out.
Almost would have, too, except then he would be back to square one and he’d never find out if this woman was one of his ambushers… or someone who really wanted to help him. Someone who could lead him to a meal and regain some strength.
She could also lead him literally anywhere else. Wasn’t uncommon for those unwary enough to be toyed with and gradually, unknowingly, guided to their deaths or worse. Michael knew what it was to be tortured, had been there before, had some understanding of the mind of those cruel enough to actually go through with it. And such individuals were common, even in a place as ‘sacred’ as this temple.
This had always been a common dilemma for Michael:
Allow a stranger to help him or leave.
Had he been in a less disadvantaged state he WOULD have left already. Put this lie with walls behind him and never looked back.
But, that wasn’t reality. He was here, he was wounded, he could barely walk in a straight line, and she said she would lead him to food. Desperation came in many forms, not all of them visible.
"I did indeed. Come along. It's not far."
She opened the door, blazing sunlight cast through. Made him squint from the brightness of it. Slowly, bones aching, he moved through that door. Followed her without hurry, took each stride in turn. Paid attention to as much as he could, though his senses were still muddled from whatever had cracked into his skull. The world around him became more familiar, The last Whisper a place he frequented. You could get away with anything here if you knew how. Could snag all manner of food, clothes, and other related items and get out before anyone knew they were gone.
Those days, though, were farther behind him than he liked. The less beaten version of him had far better footing and didn’t stumble so much.
Around a corner, down some stairs. Familiar still, he knew where they were. It offered him solace, to know how to get OUT should the need arise. He knew cobbled streets, vendors, businesses, alleys, little side streets. Would have chosen somewhere less inhabited, might have veered off and simply left, but there were few people down here; it would be hard to blend in, and so he waited. Didn’t even know if he would NEED to get out.
He sat in a seat that allowed him to see most of the establishment, but with the number of people and the constant buzz and din of their voices, it would be easy for anyone to get the jump on him. She gestured to a waiter, told him he could pay her back later.
Another red flag, one that stirred hairs along the back of his neck. But, god damn it all to hell, he was too fucking hungry and too fucking sore and too fucking tired to care.
He ordered the biggest meal in the house along with a glass of water and a pitcher of beer. She offered, he was going to take advantage. See what she meant and what she didn’t. Because bringing a stranger here, all the way from the temple, made little sense to the man who didn’t believe good hearts still existed.
“Why?” It was all he asked after the waiter left. His stare boring into hers. Searching as though trying to peel back the layers, reach inside, and yank out the answers.
MICHAEL
Kid, get off the ground. Spit your blood and bare your teeth.
Almost would have, too, except then he would be back to square one and he’d never find out if this woman was one of his ambushers… or someone who really wanted to help him. Someone who could lead him to a meal and regain some strength.
She could also lead him literally anywhere else. Wasn’t uncommon for those unwary enough to be toyed with and gradually, unknowingly, guided to their deaths or worse. Michael knew what it was to be tortured, had been there before, had some understanding of the mind of those cruel enough to actually go through with it. And such individuals were common, even in a place as ‘sacred’ as this temple.
This had always been a common dilemma for Michael:
Allow a stranger to help him or leave.
Had he been in a less disadvantaged state he WOULD have left already. Put this lie with walls behind him and never looked back.
But, that wasn’t reality. He was here, he was wounded, he could barely walk in a straight line, and she said she would lead him to food. Desperation came in many forms, not all of them visible.
"I did indeed. Come along. It's not far."
She opened the door, blazing sunlight cast through. Made him squint from the brightness of it. Slowly, bones aching, he moved through that door. Followed her without hurry, took each stride in turn. Paid attention to as much as he could, though his senses were still muddled from whatever had cracked into his skull. The world around him became more familiar, The last Whisper a place he frequented. You could get away with anything here if you knew how. Could snag all manner of food, clothes, and other related items and get out before anyone knew they were gone.
Those days, though, were farther behind him than he liked. The less beaten version of him had far better footing and didn’t stumble so much.
Around a corner, down some stairs. Familiar still, he knew where they were. It offered him solace, to know how to get OUT should the need arise. He knew cobbled streets, vendors, businesses, alleys, little side streets. Would have chosen somewhere less inhabited, might have veered off and simply left, but there were few people down here; it would be hard to blend in, and so he waited. Didn’t even know if he would NEED to get out.
He sat in a seat that allowed him to see most of the establishment, but with the number of people and the constant buzz and din of their voices, it would be easy for anyone to get the jump on him. She gestured to a waiter, told him he could pay her back later.
Another red flag, one that stirred hairs along the back of his neck. But, god damn it all to hell, he was too fucking hungry and too fucking sore and too fucking tired to care.
He ordered the biggest meal in the house along with a glass of water and a pitcher of beer. She offered, he was going to take advantage. See what she meant and what she didn’t. Because bringing a stranger here, all the way from the temple, made little sense to the man who didn’t believe good hearts still existed.
“Why?” It was all he asked after the waiter left. His stare boring into hers. Searching as though trying to peel back the layers, reach inside, and yank out the answers.
Go down fighting. Go down savage.
